Dawning
by zeetus
Summary: He always knew that they would come. They took him away and he was waiting for freedom like for that first ray of sunlight after an endless night. AUish Dramione one-shot


_A/N: This came from listening to a song(about maybe 20 times a day) which is about hope, and that we should always wait for the dawn  
Neither the characters(at least the major ones) nor the settings are mine, just the thought to mix them and the words that finally made it here . The mistakes however are all mine, because unfortunately I don't have a beta... Though I hope you still like it....._

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**Dawning**

The sounds were reminding him of an old man, whose joints can barely bear the work they must do; or a man injured and only on the mend. A man like him. The stairs were creaking, just like they did long ago. It seems that nobody took the time to repair them.  
But he didn't mind it. It gave him a feeling of peace, like nothing changed during the time that he went away.

He paused on a step, and studied a hole in the wall. He remembered when that happened, the bullets tearing into the walls just like they did into their lives. But that was over now. Or at least he would like to live in this false security.  
He was back.

It was so long ago that he left. No, not left, because nobody went willingly to that place which was his forced home in the last few years.  
They took him unexpectedly, though at that time everyone was afraid that they would be next, afraid that the new regime would find something against them. Or if they didn't find anything, they would fabricate a story but if they were too tired they would just barge into a house and pick someone to bring to those terrible prisons to punish them for sins they never committed.

They managed to surprise him when they appeared at his workplace, but unconsciously he was waiting for them. He always knew that they would come. After all, he was part of that machine long ago. He had been one of them, too; one of the many they paid for pretending to love someone and get information out of them. He'd done that too. Then it all changed. The information did not seem so important after a time. It wasn't worth it, after all who would have betrayed the one they'd fallen in love with? He couldn't do it. He found the faults in the system, the black parts that nobody wanted to talk about. He left, but he always knew that the system would get him for it. And so it did.

He didn't know what happened after they took him. They came unexpectedly, in the middle of a day. He didn't get any notice, he never saw them. He always knew that they could appear anytime but when they did he wasn't prepared. He couldn't have been prepared.

He thought about his family. He didn't know what happened to them after. Has anyone told his wife that he wasn't going to come home anymore? Did they tell her that he died or did they taunt her with the fact that he lived worse than a rat somewhere in a cold nameless place as a traitorous face as any other and as guilty as anyone else?

Nobody visited him. He wasn't sure that anyone even knew that he was alive. And even if they knew he was happy that they did not come. At least they didn't see him when he was at the mercy of the guards or when he was ready to do anything to stay alive.

There were always voices. Loud ones, people begging for their lives and the cruel laughter of the guards. Sounds of torture, of death, of cells opening. Even fear had sounds there. And there was silence. It was even worse than the sounds. It was endless and empty and without any light, just like how they felt in there.  
The city was silent as well as he walked through it only some minutes ago. Though it wasn't full of sounds when he was taken, now there was more silence than ever; a proof of the fact that these terrible times haven't passed entirely yet and the people were still afraid to really live.

He reached the top of the stairs. Their little flat was the last one on the corridor. He walked very slowly as if afraid to see the place. The paint on the walls was fading in many places. He thought it really looked like him at the moment. His clothes were the same ones that he got when they put him in his last cell a year or so ago. The only gave the prisoners clothes when they really couldn't wear them anymore; or even then they waited for some time, sometimes even for months to humiliate the people some more. His clothes were torn in so many places that they barely covered him and they were faded and dirty. When he was walking home some people saw him and he saw the pity in their eyes. They knew where he was coming from and they were afraid to help him. He understood that.

He was standing in front of the door but still hesitated. For years he just wanted to go through this door but when he was actually standing in front of it he felt fear. When someone is afraid of the dark they pray for the dawn to come sooner and he clung to his family with this desperation while he was away. He was always thinking about them and was waiting for this day like for that first ray of sunlight after an endless night.  
And now he was afraid to face them. He didn't know anything about them. He was not even sure that they still lived here. But this was the place the sunlight led him to. Home.

He slowly opened the door and noticed that the hinges needed repairing. Maybe they could heal together.  
They didn't notice him as he came to the room. They didn't notice him so he stood there quietly, taking everything in. Their son was sitting in her lap and they were hunched over a book. He was learning spelling and now tried to read the word school. She was smiling and showed him the letters with her finger. Something caught his eyes then, right on her finger she still carried her wedding ring. Their ring. He was afraid that she would forget him, that she would think him dead, that they would feed her lies and she would simply go on without him. How could he have been so foolish. How could he ever doubt her. She waited, she was still waiting. And his soon was so big. He was six. He hadn't seen him for years, since he was a toddler, not even able to call his name yet.

Then suddenly as if feeling his presence, she looked up and stilled. She opened her mouth and her eyes widened slightly. Then suddenly they were full of tears as she realized that he was really here, he was not a dream or an illusion.

Their son noticed that his mother stopped and looked up to find out what disturbed their study time. He looked towards the door and saw a man standing there, dirty, thin and weary, but he still recognized him. His mother often showed him the picture which was taken at their wedding. He didn't remember his father, he was very young when the man was taken away, but he always hoped that he would be back. His mother always told him to never lose hope. He knew everything about his father and he knew that he wanted to be exactly like him, and he didn't care what the others told him.

As he stood there Draco wanted to say so many things but he couldn't even say one word. In the prison he hasn't spoken for years and now when he wanted to say everything that was important he couldn't. But it didn't matter anymore.  
The boy quickly stood up and ran towards the man he was waiting for his whole life and hugged him.

Draco hugged his son, his eyes tearing up as well. He looked towards Hermione, and saw that she was crying as well. She stood up and took some steps towards him, but waited until their son hugged his father for the first time. As if he knew what his parents wanted the boy finally released his father and took a step back to give some place for his parents.

They stood there for a few moments, not moving, then they both moved and in a moment they were hugging each other and crying. His clothes quickly became wet from her tears and he was sure that he was bruising her the way he was holding her so tightly but neither cared and neither wanted to let go ever again.  
The sun was slowly filling the small room with its golden rays and he could only think about one thing: he was home. And anything else just had to wait.

End


End file.
